Mr. Goldshed next insisted that Dingwell's life, fortunately for that person, was too important to the gentlemen assembled there to be trifled with; and said that sage-- "We'll have the best doctor in London--six pounds' worth of _him_--d'y see? And under him a clever _young_ doctor to look in four times a day, and we'll arrange with the young 'un on the principal of no cure no pay--that is, we'll give fifty pounds this day six weeks, if the party in bed here is alive at that date." And upon this basis I believe an arrangement was actually completed. The great Doctor Langley, when he called, and questioned Miss Rumble, and inspected the patient, told Mr. Levi, who was in waiting, that the old gentleman had been walking about in a fever for more than a week before he took to his bed, and that the chances were very decidedly against his recovery. A great anxiety overcame Mr. Larkin like a summer cloud, and the serene sunshine of that religious mind was overcast with storm and blackness. For the recovery of Mr. Dingwell were offered up, in one synagogue at least, prayers as fervent as any ever made for that of our early friend Charles Surface, and it was plain that never was patriarch, saint, or hero, mourned as the venerable Mr. Dingwell would be, by at least three estimable men, if the fates were to make away with him on this critical occasion. The three gentlemen, as they left his room on the evening I have been describing, cast their eyes upon Mr. Dingwell's desk, and hesitated, and looked at one another, darkly, for a moment in silence. "There'sh no reason why we shouldn't," drawled Mr. Goldshed. "I object to the removal of the desk," said Mr. Larkin, with a shake of his head, closing his eyes, and raising his hand as if about to pronounce a benediction on the lid of it. "If he's spared it might become a very serious thing--I decidedly object." "Who want'sh to take the man's desk!" drawled Mr. Goldshed, surlily. "Who want'sh to take it?" echoed Levi, and stared at him with an angry gape. "But there will be no harm, I shay, in looking what paper'sh there," continued Mr. Goldshed. "Does he get letters?" "Only two, sir, please, as I can remember, since he came here." "By po-sht, or by ha-a-an'?" inquired Goldshed. "By 'and, sir, please; it was your Mr. Solomons as fetched 'em here, sir." He lifted up the desk, swayed it gently, and shook it a little, looking at it as if it were a musical box about to strike up, and so set it down again softly. "There'sh papersh in that box," he hummed thoughtfully to himself.